The salty ocean sprays their skin with mild threats, penetrating

heart & lungs in small doses. Blood-orange safety devices wind

around bodies, squeeze & hug ears with the er-er squeak of

rubber. The deep blue is tender & considerate, for a while. It

does not stir, it does not shed its skin. Until Secure our borders!

Go back! Go back! is carried by the wind. It breathes out in deep

murmurs, gasping, the words turn to mumbles & the translation

is lost on the buoyant euphemisms. The land dwellers project

towards illegal maritime arrivals from homes of wood, brick,

fibrous cement sheets & concretes with feet shoulder-width apart,

hands cupped around mouths as loudspeakers or employ the

correct process, get in line! Meet our requests! Papers! Papers,

made of Ancestor Spirits. From the boat emanates hope. They play

& pray up to five times each day. New land not yet visible. Only

imagined. Imagined in terms of home. New land can’t yet hear

their plastic squeals of determination, or their angry bellies. Dark

water whispers quiet warnings, gentle signals of its instability. Its

ability to swallow them whole. Somehow it’s comforting, you & I

can’t understand how it comforts them. Let it go. Suppose there are

traces of God & the entirety of time in every droplet, traces of life

mingling with the struggle. They know struggle, but violence or

silence – they wait to find out which is worse. & which would you

prefer? So we will decide who comes to this country, the liquid mass

awakes, quickly establishing a hopeless amalgam of: one leaky boat,

too many people & not enough life jackets & the circumstances in

which they come! (& die?) The rainbow develops it’s red round of

applause it is fully enveloped by red.
The Indian Ocean saturates & fills up

bodies while the hum of cheer echoes

through the slippery seas. Silver gulls

circle the skies, dipping down to the

scaly skin for food. They squawk out

of time with the beat of celebration.